


the kristanna drabble dumping ground

by ahtohallan_calling



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/M, drabbles i post that are too short to go anywhere else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22111900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahtohallan_calling/pseuds/ahtohallan_calling
Summary: Where all the one-shot drabbles I write that are too short for their own fic go :')
Relationships: Anna/Kristoff (Disney)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anna and Kristoff are still recovering from what happened on the dam.
> 
> (post f2)

She wakes up to the sound of a cry, but tonight it’s not her own. 

“Anna,” he sobs, “Anna, I’m so sorry.”

She runs her hand through his hair, slides it down his face, cupping his jaw. “Wake up, honey,” she says, “I’m here, we’re okay, just wake up,” but it’s still several moments before he jolts upright, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

His hand goes to cover hers where it rests against his cheek. “Anna…”

“Still the same?”

He slides his fingers down to encircle her wrist, so carefully. “Not quite. This time you didn’t grab on in time.”

He pulls her wrist toward him, pressing a soft kiss to the ring of greening bruises that are proof she and he both were on time, but only just barely. The fingers of her other hand trail down his chest, where he has plenty of bruises of his own; she may be half his size, but the force it had taken him to yank her from the crumbling stone had left its mark. 

He shivers a little under her touch, and she smiles, sliding her hand up to perch on his chest, just over his heart so she could feel its steady thrum, admiring the way her ring glimmers in the moonlight. She wears it even to sleep, knowing that she will have dreams of her own, dreams where he did not let go but instead never came back to her at all. 

He watches her carefully, his face half in shadow, already back to worrying about her so soon after his own moment of terror. She leans down and kisses his cheek, the way that still makes him blush. 

“Go back to sleep, Kris,” she says softly, pressing another kiss to his lips. “I’ll still be here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post f2 married angst

She had been hoping she wouldn’t find him here. 

When he had first come to live at the palace, of course it made sense; it was just what made him more comfortable, and she’d come down and join him in the warmer months, and they’d figure out together what a roll in the hay meant. 

But then he’d moved in, gotten his own suite of rooms (which he ignored in favor of hers every time Elsa went to bed early), and then when they’d gotten married they made the sharing official, but then one night a couple of weeks after their wedding she’d turned over and found the space next to her empty and cold. 

She had raced down the hallways in her nightgown, terrified that something had happened, and by the time she’d burst out the back doors she had been convinced he’d been left for dead somewhere— and then she’d heard him talking softly to Sven. 

“I don’t know if I can do this, buddy,” he’d said, and for the first time she had turned and left him to it, going back to their bed and curling up in the middle in a tight ball under the sheets. 

When he’d come in the next morning, worried because he’d heard she had cancelled all her meetings, she had still been lying there and let him think it was just because she wasn’t feeling well, let him spend the afternoon holding her and stroking her hair and murmuring sweet promises that she couldn’t quite believe. 

But that had been well over a year ago, and since then he’s never given any indication of feeling the same way; he’s stood with her at every ball, every important meeting, spent every night in bed beside her, letting her cling to him even in the middle of July when it’s so hot neither of them wear anything at all and still wake up sweating. 

But now here he is, with straw tangled in his hair, turned away from her under a blanket so ragged he won’t even let Sven use it. 

She used to tease him about this when he first came, used to snuggle right up against him and sneak her hands up under his shirt and let it lead where it would; she wants to be that same lighthearted girl again, blowing this off, but it’s not just the two of them anymore. 

“Are you going to leave?” she sobs, and he turns over immediately, his face draining of color. 

“Anna, it’s not—“

“Why didn’t you come to bed?”

He clambers upright, comes straight to her with his arms extended, but she’s not sure she wants to be held, and so she backs away, one hand on the curve of her belly. 

“Anna, baby,” he whispers, something wild and afraid in his eyes, “I just— I get so scared.”

“Of me? Of  _ us _ ?”

“No,” he insists, shaking his head. 

“What then? The crown? The meetings? You don’t know if you can do it, is that it?”

He stills, the realization hitting him that she knows about before. “Anna…”

“Which is it?” she asks, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

He reaches up, hesitantly, to brush them away, and she lets him. “I get worried something will happen to you,” he says, his voice shaky. “Or to both of you. There’s— there’s so many things that could go  _ wrong _ , and sometimes when I look at you that’s all I can think about, is what if I lose you or god forbid  _ both _ of you and then— then what would I do, Anna? What would I do without you?”

There are tears in his eyes now, too, and she holds out her arms, inviting him. He pulls her as close as he can and buries his face in her hair, clenching his shaking fists in the back of her nightgown. “I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely. “And before— before it was the same, when I realized what could happen to you now if things go sour with some other nation, or if some lunatic just—“

His voice breaks, and he doesn’t try to continue. She nestles her face against his shoulder, the way she always has, each of them a support for the other until at last his shoulders stop shaking and her tears dry. 

“I don’t know, Kris,” she whispers, finally answering his question. “But please don’t— don’t just— please come back to bed.”

He presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

She nods, looping her arms around his neck; he scoops her up the way he always does when she is too tired, nestling her against his chest as he makes his way back to the castle doors. “Already forgiven.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dadstoff

He’d been practicing for weeks now— months, really, if he was being completely honest with himself— with anything that seemed the right shape and size. Sacks of flour and feed were the most convenient to get his hands on without anyone noticing, or sometimes he’d be down around the stables and there’d be a new baby reindeer, although that never really felt close to the same at all. At least he hoped it wouldn’t. Anna had had a nightmare about that once. “ _ Four legs, _ Kris,” she’d explained, holding up her fingers as if he’d forgotten how many that was. “Just coming right out of me! Can you  _ imagine _ ?

(Unfortunately, he could, and had had that nightmare the following night.)

Thank god that when it finally did happen the whole ordeal, awful as it had been to see her in so much pain, had only involved the correct number and type of limbs, but now a little bundle was being held out to him, wrapped in a blanket Anna had insisted on making herself (it only had two holes, so that was pretty good), and he held out his arms just the way he’d watched real fathers do and then suddenly his son was there and it was like nothing he had practiced at all. 

But it felt familiar, all the same, because for the second time in his life he looked into a pair of bright blue eyes and fell head over heels in love. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> modern au

Anna squints, sticking her tongue out through her teeth the way Kristoff always teases her about, tries a new shape of scribble, which turns out even wronger than the last one. She huffs out a sigh, rubs it out with a worn nub of eraser, and tries again, slower this time. She tilts her head, considering, and there’s a jingle of keys in the door as her husband comes in. 

Absentmindedly, she holds up her right hand, sketching in one last little shadow; Kristoff waits, and the moment the hand and the pencil go down he’s there, leaning over the back of the chair to kiss her cheek. “Hey, baby.”

He kneels down beside her, pressing his hand to the curve of her belly, and kisses her there, too. He’s rewarded with a little nudge against the palm of his hand, and he laughs. “And hello, baby.”

Anna runs her hand through his hair, stroking the overgrown strands off his forehead. He catches her hand and kisses each fingertip before rising to his feet. “What are you working on?” he asks, leaning down to examine her sketches.

She blushes a little, feeling sort of silly. “Um-- at the doctor’s office today, I saw a couple of moms bringing babies in for a checkup, and I was kind of wondering what ours is gonna look like.”

Kristoff glances back at her, that dopey  _ I’m-so-in-love-with-you  _ smile on his face, and she knows she’s wearing the exact same one. She can’t help but lean in and kiss him, remembering the first time she’d seen that smile, when he’d been the new zookeeper right off the plane from Norway and she’d talked to him for hours about the animals in the new tundra exhibit he’d been brought in to manage, wanting to know every little detail. “You’re really going to fit all of this stuff in one little brochure?” he’d asked, and she’d felt herself turn bright red, remembering the real reason she was sitting with him in the cafe chatting over coffee in cheetah print mugs. 

“I just want to know,” she’d admitted. “I like to know everything about...well, everything,” and then he’d smiled and said the one thing  _ he _ would really like to know was her phone number, and the rest was history. 

Kristoff is looking back at the sketches, carefully running his finger around the lines so he won’t smudge them. “I think she’ll look like this,” he pronounces, tapping a doodle in the bottom left. 

“Why that one?” Anna asks, and he grins.

“Got my nose,” he says cheerfully. “It’s a shame, really, but it’s basically a family heirloom. No escaping her fate.”

Anna wraps her arms around his neck, drawing him down so she can kiss the nose in question. “I hope she gets your eyes, too.”

“That’ll be alright, I guess, long as she gets your hair,” he says contentedly, running a hand over the swell of her stomach. “Sorry I couldn’t make the appointment with you today.”

“Don’t worry about it, you didn’t miss anything exciting.”

“ _ All _ of it is exciting,” he protests, and Anna laughs.

“He said she’s as big of a cantaloupe now,” she adds, holding out her hands and trying to gauge it correctly. “And she probably weighs about five pounds.”

“Did you know,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “that baby reindeer can be up to  _ twenty _ pounds when they’re born?”

She shudders theatrically, and it’s his turn to laugh. “They’re really cute, though. So, uh...to make it up to her for missing it today, I thought I’d bring her…”

Kristoff rustles through a paper bag with the zoo’s logo printed on the side and pulls out a floppy brown plush. “Aha! Her own reindeer.”

Anna runs a hand over the velvety fur and tiny antlers, her eyes welling up with tears. “Kris,” she chokes out, “it’s perfect. She’ll love it.”

She’d always been a bit of a happy crier, but nowadays it seems every wonderful thing her husband does gets the tears flowing. He’s used to it by now, but his eyes still fill with concern every time. He leans down to kiss the top of her head, lingering there for a moment. “You think so?”

Anna sniffles and picks up the toy, hugging it close. “We’ll give it to her right away. Her first birthday present.”

Now Kristoff’s eyes are looking a watery, too, as he leans down to kiss her. They break apart only when a particularly strong kick lands against Anna’s ribs. “I think she’s telling us to get a room,” she laughs, and there’s that mischievous twinkle in Kristoff’s eyes again. 

He leans down, sliding one arm behind her back and one under her knees before scooping her up off the chair in one smooth motion. “I was thinking the same thing,” he says, smirking as he makes his way towards the stairs. 

Anna loops one arm over the back of his neck. “Good idea. Better make the most of the time we have while it’s still just the two of us, huh?”

The smirk melts away into unabashed fondness, and he presses his forehead against hers. “Just a few more weeks, and we’ll get to see if your drawing was right.”

Anna kisses him softly, her free hand cupping his cheek. “I can’t wait.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another dadstoff/pregnant anna thing because i talk to gabi too much

Before Anna, snow was just snow and mountains were just mountains and people were just crooks and cheats.

Now snow is  _ frozencoldfrostbitedying  _ and mountains are  _ wolvescliffsdarkfalling _ and people are still crooks and cheats sometimes but Anna is Anna and nothing is better than her, her and this little swell of her stomach that he presses his hand to when he curls around her at night, a shield and shelter for her-- for  _ them _ \-- even in his sleep.

And fear is his constant companion, not because there is something new to be afraid  _ of _ but because there is something to be afraid  _ for, _ and he knows that sometimes it frustrates her that he won’t let her walk on the edge of the sidewalk closest to the road or that he angles himself between her and any diplomats from the south or that he drives the wagon so slowly up the path to the forest that now the journey takes nearly the whole day-- but then at night she feels that hand trembling as it presses against her, and she turns in his arms and whispers  _ we’re okay honey, nothing’s going to happen _ and he says  _ of course nothing will, I don’t know what you’re worried about, baby, go back to sleep  _ and she does, and he buries his nose in her hair and kisses her forehead and soaks himself in the warmth of her until he forgets what winter feels like.

And he thinks that maybe when there’s three of them it will get easier, but now there’s two pairs of blue eyes looking to him and a little bundle that feels too small in his arms even though the doctor said she’s perfect (how could she  _ not _ be) and he knows deep down that he can never be  _ sure _ because the world is vast and senseless but he’s damn well going to try and he promises as much to this little slip of half-Anna-half-him and he knows that he would brave any snowstorm, any mountain, any monster, for her, and perhaps this fear won’t go away but compared to all the joy and wonder and  _ love  _ that have come alongside it-- well. 

A little hand curls around his finger and freckled arms wrap around his waist and he leans into the warmth of the moment until it soaks through to his bones and he remembers that a shelter is more than just one wall and suddenly he’s not trembling anymore.


	6. color

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actually canonverse for once! thanks val-2201 for the prompt :)
> 
> set between f1 and f2

His hair, that’s easy enough; she just mixes the same color she uses for wheat whenever she does a landscape with just a little bit of the gold paint, the kind that’s just barely metallic so she can capture the shine just right. And the shade of his skin—well, she’s committed every inch of that to memory, so mixing up that shade is no trouble at all. His cheeks are almost permanently rosy, considering he spends his summers up on the mountains harvesting ice and the rest of the year the wind is chilly enough coming off the fjord, so she experimented a bit with red and pink and found that the perfect shade meant mixing in just a tiny hint of blue.

But his eyes—that’s the most important part, and she’s been trying all week and still can’t get it right.

It’s supposed to be a romantic thing, a portrait of the two of them not looking like a princess and the Master Ice Deliveryman or whatever it is his official title is (if she’s being honest, she’s not even sure she said it the right way when she first told him) but instead just…well, the two of them, because it’s about to be one year since she met him and even though that’s not a real anniversary it deserves commemoration all the same. She’d done the sketch work for the painting when he wasn’t looking as he got dressed the morning before he left for this trip; it took him so long to do up all the fastenings on his harvesting outfit that she’d even had time to spare after sketching a vague outline to pencil in his features. She’d penciled in herself later that afternoon, standing in the mirror with her tongue between her teeth as she tried to get the proportions right, which had turned out to be quite the challenge since with every line she thought _that can’t be right, he can’t be that much taller than me._

(Then she’d remembered how she’d had to stand on her toes to kiss him goodbye and he’d still had to lean down for her and then she’d gotten a bit teary-eyed even though it was only going to be a week, but still—she missed him.)

And since then she’d been trying to finish it up whenever she got a free moment; it was just a hobby, really, but one she’d started as a little girl and practiced semi-regularly since, and she was feeling awfully proud of the whole thing until now when all that was left to do was his eyes, and she still just can’t get it right.

She drops the paintbrush with a huff onto the dropcloth beneath the easel—well, really, she threw it rather than dropping it—and is rewarded with a splatter of paint going all over her ankle.

“Damn it,” she mutters, crossing her arms, and to her surprise, a little chuckle comes in response.

“I don’t think princesses are supposed to know that word.”

And there he is, leaning against the doorway with that lopsided grin and tousled hair and unshaven jaw and his eyes are—

“Don’t move!” she cries as he starts to move towards her, arms extended; she leans down and manages to snag the paintbrush again. “Just stand there and look at me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No need to tease me when I’ve already not gotten to kiss you for a week.”

“It’s not that, just—hold still. Oh, I love you, by the way.”

His eyes soften at that, and there it is, that perfect shade of brown she’s been trying to capture all week. She swirls some paints together quickly, takes a smaller brush and dabs a bit up, dragging the bristles carefully over the last blank spot of the canvas. She sighs with relief. “Finally. Perfect.”

“Can I come over yet?”

“Just—hang on—one minute—there.”

He comes over, grinning, and she hops up to meet him, dropping the brush again and flinging her arms around his neck. He kisses her soundly, and she smiles against him, letting her fingers slip up to tangle in his hair.

“What’re you working on that’s so important anyway?” he asks between kisses, but she just shakes her head and presses closer against him.

“Doesn’t feel that important anymore.”


	7. holding on tight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this in about 10 minutes on a dare (that i dared myself to do LOL)  
> canonverse, post f2, pregnancy cw

Anna pushes back from the cliff with a whoop and lands in his outstretched arms, “like some kind of crazy trust exercise, huh?” and even though she’s the one who just jumped he feels like he’s falling and he goes to tighten his arms around her but suddenly she’s long gone and all he can see are flames and the darkness between them, except sometimes it’s day time and the mountains are somehow moving, and there in the distance he sees her, two flickering Annas running or seeking or screaming or shielding her eyes, but then both Annas are crumpling to her knees, and he snatches her up just in time, just in time, and she’s there against his chest but then she’s  _ not _ , she’s hanging from a cliff so far below and he strains to reach her and he’s screaming  _ Anna, Anna I’ve got you, take my hand, please god please take it _ — and she looks up at him with terror in her eyes and says  _ I can’t, I can’t _ , and he realizes with dawning horror that with the hand that isn’t slipping from the rocks she’s cradling a little swaddled bundle, and then suddenly they’re both falling and all he can do is scream her name and—

“Kris!”

Suddenly he’s the one being caught; a little hand is clinging to the back of his collar as his chest heaves. He blinks and realizes he is halfway off the bed, all the sheets tangled around his legs.

“Kris?”

It’s a question this time; she still hasn’t let go, but he can feel her fingers trembling against the nape of his neck. He shoves against the nightstand for leverage and falls onto his back on the mattress, his shoulders still shaking.

“Anna,” he chokes out, and he doesn’t know when he started but he’s crying, and then she’s there, hands and lips fluttering over his face as she tries to comfort him without yet knowing what’s wrong.

He sets a trembling hand against the heavy swell of her stomach; when an answering nudge presses against his palm, he feels like he’s able to breathe again at last.

“You were saying my name, over and over again,” Anna whispers, her hand going down to cover his. “And then suddenly you just— I don’t— I thought you were going to roll right out of bed—“

“I— I was trying to catch you and I couldn’t, and you were holding the baby and that was why you fell and I—“

“I’m right here, Kris,” she said softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead to prove it was true. “We both are.”


	8. assassin au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> exactly what it says on the tin LOL
> 
> originally posted as 4 separate prompts/drabbles on tumblr

“Is this for me?” Kristoff murmured, slipping his hand through the slit in her gown and running his fingers up the bare skin of her thigh to settle over the pistol strapped to it.

“Give me one good reason it shouldn’t be,” Anna replied, her red-painted lips curling up into a smirk.

He lowered his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “Let’s start here,” he said, his breath hot against her skin as he pressed a long kiss there, his stubble scratching lightly over her collarbone. “Good enough?”

Her fingers tightened in the golden hair at the back of his head. “No,” she said as she tilted her head back against the wall, inviting him to continue.

The hand he still had on her thigh slid down to just above the back of her knee, raising her leg to hook it over his hip as he pressed closer to her. His eyes were dark as he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her until she shuddered against him, her hands sliding from his hair to press against his chest, fingers clutching at the lapels of his tuxedo. “How about now?”

After a long moment, her eyes fluttered open. She batted her lashes and asked sweetly, “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Both. Although I might change my mind if you keep spouting cliches at me.”

“You wouldn’t dream of it,” she purred, her fingers moving swiftly to loosen his tie. “Not when it’s been so long since we’ve gotten to…meet up.”

“You’d think they’d have caught on by now,” he said, leaning back only long enough to shrug off his jacket before settling his hands on the swell of her hips. “Stop sending me to take you out.”

“We could go straight one of these days, you know,” Anna said thoughtfully, dropping his tie to the floor before making short work of his buttons. “You could take me out in the normal sense of the phrase.”

“Where do you want me to take you?” he asked as he slid his hands to the back of her gown, searching for her zipper. 

“Well…I’ve gone to Paris with you twice now. Didn’t much care for London, did you?”

“Too cold,” he said as her dress puddled to the floor in a pile of gold sequins.

“Mmm…and Rome was alright, but it’s getting too crowded these days,” she mused, kicking it aside with a dainty stiletto. “You’re based in Oslo, aren’t you?”

“Now you’re the one giving me reasons to kill you,” he said, leaning close enough to brush his nose against hers as his hands settled on her waist, wide enough with his fingers slightly spread to span the distance between her ribcage and the upper curve of her hips.

“You wouldn’t,” she said, pressing a light, chaste kiss to his lips even as she hooked her leg around his hips again, urging him closer and smiling when he groaned and pressed against her. “You’d get too bored without me around.”

“Damn right I would,” he said, closing the gap between their mouths again, entirely unaware of the red dot of light that had just appeared on the back of his head.

* * *

They were running out of time; the sniper she’d requested as backup was the newest one on the team, which meant he was fool enough to give them an opportunity– but altogether too trigger-happy for her liking. It was only a matter of time before he decided she was taking too long and finished the job for her.

Her heart pounding, Anna pushed firmly against Kristoff’s shoulders, and though he could have lifted and tossed her aside like a ragdoll, he moved easily beneath her touch, letting her turn until he was the one pressed back against the wall. “Pick me up,” she whispered, setting her hands behind his neck. “Please.”

He heard the urgency in her tone and didn’t question her, lifting her in one smooth motion as she hooked her legs around his waist and resumed kissing him, the hem of her silk slip hiking up under his rough palms. 

“What’s wrong, Anna?” he asked between kisses, his fingers tightening where they supported her.

“No time,” she said quickly, moving to press a kiss by his temple and lingering there to whisper, “Start moving. Utility staircase, far end of the hall.”

He did, walking backwards as quickly as he could without dropping her as she carded her hands through his hair. When he began to turn a little to get a look over his shoulder, she yanked at the hair at the nape of his neck, startling a yelp from him.

“He’ll kill you the second he gets a clean shot, Kris,” she said desperately, no longer bothering to whisper now that they were out of range of the microphone that had been clipped to her gown.

“So you– _fuck_ , Anna,” he said, his eyes widening as he faltered for a moment. “You wanted me to pick you up– you’re trying to shield me, aren’t you?”

“Please, _please_ , for the love of God, _move_ ,” she begged. “Before he realizes I’m helping you and just kills us both.”

A few steps more and he pressed the door open with his back, setting her down as soon as it clanged shut behind them. “Anna, fuck, I can’t ask you to–”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling you,” she interrupted, already grabbing the bag she’d stashed moments before meeting him. “Meet me at the east train station in an hour. If I’m not there–”

“Anna, I can’t–”

“You leave, Kristoff,” she said fiercely. “And if I get there and you’re gone, I– I understand. I just thought–”

He kissed her then, as long as he dared. “I’ll be there,” he said hoarsely. “We can– I have somewhere–”

“Tell me when I meet you there,” she said, already nearly dressed once more. “Okay? But right now, I need you to go. You have two more minutes, _max_ , before he realizes what I’ve done.”

“I can’t ask you to risk everything for me while I run off like a–”

Tears were collecting in the corners of her eyes as she pushed him back towards the window. “ _Go_ , Kris. I’ll meet you there, okay?” she pleaded. “Please, I…don’t let me have done this for nothing.”

He nodded, looking so vulnerable with those wide brown eyes as he stood before her in only his undershirt and slacks, his gaze never wavering from hers even as he reached back to fumble with the latch. “Anna, if I– if you don’t– I lo–”

“Don’t say it,” she whispered. “Gives me a reason to make sure I don’t fuck this up.”

He nodded as he pushed the glass open, and then he turned away, and a moment later, he was gone.

* * *

Thirty-four minutes later and Kristoff was at the train station, wearing a faded pair of jeans and a flannel, two one-way tickets north in hand, feeling acutely terrified in a way he hadn’t since the first time he’d taken a bullet to the chest.

He’d had a 100% success rate until Anna. Where others might take unnecessary risks for the sake of speed or embellishment, he relied on unparalleled instinct, a steady arm and steadier mind, and sheer determination to get the job done.

And then one day he’d let himself get distracted by a woman he’d run into on his way to intercept the target. “I’m so sorry, sir,” she had said, flustered, “but I’m not from around here, and my car just broke down and my phone died and I just– I…”

And then she had burst into great big blubbering sobs and started telling him her life story, about how her parents had neglected her and her fiance had cheated on her and now she was just trying to get a fresh start, and the next thing he knew he was bent over the hood of her car, reassuring her that it was an easy fix, and when he’d pulled back to ask if she had a wrench he’d felt the cold press of a gun to his gut.

He hadn’t even pulled away, only looked down at her, feeling a bit awed at how easily she’d pulled the wool over his eyes. “Bit public for this, isn’t it?” he’d asked, curious.

“I don’t really want to kill you,” she replied, “just keep you from killing me. I’ve heard about you.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. You’re the one with the upper hand right now.”

“You flatter me too much.”

“No, I mean it.”

With the hand that wasn’t holding the gun, she’d frisked him quickly, the way people who knew what they were doing did it, and then she’d stepped back, scowling. “What the fuck kind of assassin shows up unarmed?”

“One who stashed their weapons ahead of time.”

“Jesus. Maybe I should just shoot you here and throw you in the lake.”

“Maybe you should.”

But she hadn’t. She’d lowered the gun. “Why did you stop to help me?”

“My ma would kill me if I left a lady in need to suffer.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, really,” he said, and she had narrowed her eyes.

They’d heard the telltale signs of another car coming up the road, and suddenly Anna was on him, sliding the gun in her waistband and raising up on her toes to kiss him in one smooth movement. 

He’d kissed her back hungrily, not pulling away until well after the wolf whistles of the onlookers had long since faded into the distance. Her eyes were wide when they met his, her lips endearingly swollen.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she’d said, sounding nervous for the first time.

“What, kissing me? You’re the one who started it.”

“No,” she’d said, already leaning up again, “me liking it.”

And that was how it had all started, and now here he was a fourteen months and half a dozen run-ins later, and it had been forty-eight minutes and she might just end up killing him after all if she didn’t get there in time.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut tight. They’d actually spent a whole night together the last time, that second time they’d been in Paris. He’d woken up with her hair in her mouth and her legs entwined with his and realized that neither of them had kept their weapons within reach, and that was when he’d known he loved her.

When she had woken up, he had kissed her forehead just to see her smile, and then he’d said softly, “My name is Kristoff Bjorgman. I’m from Stavanger, in Norway. I–”

“Kris,” she’d said, eyes wide, “please, I–”

“My parents are still alive. I have two little sisters. I have a cabin up north in case I ever decide to give this shit up once and for all, and I–”

“ _Please_ ,” she’d begged then, “I– fuck, I– I know what you’re doing, but I…”

“I want you to know I trust you, Anna,” he’d said, his voice low. “With everything.”

Her eyes were shining with sudden tears. “What if they capture me and ask about you, Kris? Now I– I know too much.”

“I know you. I know you’d die before you let anyone take you in.”

Fifty-six minutes, and the thought of exactly that was rattling around his brain. Maybe she was bleeding out somewhere in an alley, maybe it had been fast and she was already gone, maybe–

He heard a shout and looked up, heart pounding, but it was only a couple of teenagers playing keep away. 

Sixty minutes, and no sign of her.

He stayed put, grateful that the train was delayed. Surely she’d be there; after he’d told her his truths she’d shared her own, and he’d held her and promised that the next time would be the last time, and she had agreed. “I want out, too,” she’d whispered, “I just…I don’t want to do this anymore. I’ve taken enough from this world, it’s time I put something back in it.”

A big, open space, that’s what she’d wanted and what he already had, to take care of as many stray animals as she could, to grow a garden to be shared with those who needed its bounty, to make amends for what she could, not only for the sake of her own soul but simply because she wanted to.

Sixty-four minutes. The train pulled in.

He got on, but there was still no sign of her.

 _Goodbye, Anna_ , he thought, willing his eyes to stay dry.

* * *

He stared bleakly out of the window as the train began to pick up speed again after leaving its second stop. Houses and shops and people all whizzed by him in a blur, but despite the rush of color and the roar of the wheels he felt nothing but a cold emptiness flooding every inch of him.

Anna was gone– for good this time.

Since the last time he’d said goodbye to her in Paris, he’d been aching for the chance to see her again, hoping that somehow it’d be anywhere besides a mission, but then he’d been assigned once more to take her out. He knew his superiors were getting suspicious of how many times he’d failed. “She failed, too,” he’d pointed out, but that had become little consolation to them.

He knew this time was his last chance and had blown it like a six year old kid with a pocket full of allowance in a candy store, expecting to come home– _really_ come home, not just to Oslo but to his little cabin tucked away in the woods– with her on his arm.

It had to be bad for her, too. They’d found little ways to get messages to each other, but they’d grown fewer and farther between. The last one she’d sent, just a week before this mission, had read only, “See you soon in Bergen! Last trip for a while for me, I think. Feeling sort of homesick.”

And he’d known she was facing the same pressure and had made the same choice and had actually dared to feel happy about it, to hope that it would work out. 

He leaned his forehead against the glass, willing his face to remain blank, and then someone in the aisle next to him cleared their throat.

“Hi,” a bright voice said. “This seat taken?”

He was losing his mind. He _had_ to be; there was no way she–

“If it is, I can–”

“No, no, I–” he said quickly, but the words died in his throat when he finally turned and saw her standing there before him, grinning broadly. He swallowed hard. “Not taken.”

“Good,” she said, then bypassed the seat entirely in favor of settling herself on his lap and kissing him for all she was worth.


End file.
